It was a Sunday morning. The sun was shining through the kitchen windows, casting warm golden light across the countertops. The birds were singing outside, their cheerful melodies drifting through the open windows. The house smelled like pancakes and fresh coffee. The sound of laughter drifted up from the kitchen. James was twelve. Lily was seventeen. They were sitting at the kitchen table, arguing over the last pancake. Charlie, our golden retriever, was under the table, hoping for scraps. Princess, our calico cat, was on the windowsill, pretending not to care about the chaos below. "Give it to me," James said, reaching for the plate. "No, it's mine," Lily said, pulling it away. "I want it." "I want it more." "You always want everything." "Because I'm older." "Being older doesn't make you better." "It makes me smarter." "No, it doesn't." I looked at Julian. He was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes with an expression of fond exasperation. His hair was grayer now. Hi
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